weirdlet

The AU: Sun Child, in which Princess Zura was pregnant when she was banished from the Fire Nation. Now she roams the world with a child in tow, seeking the Avatar as the key to redemption- for her, and her daughter...

The Prompt/Summary: (sorrysorrysorry! I still aten't dead!) Tales of Ba Sing Se part five- water on stone...

The Fic-

Jet has never yet found an obstacle he couldn’t climb, dig under, sidestep, convince it was in their own best interest to move aside, or, in last resort, blow up with-

Well, he had succeeded in blowing up the dam. It just hadn’t done him any good. And the Water-girl had refused to stay where he’d managed to turn her head, and her brother had proved just as twisty in his own way as the best of the Freedom Fighters-

So he was taking a longer detour around what had turned out to be a greater obstacle than he’d ever before realized (the War, the world, and their place in it were all so much bigger out here). It had taken him all the way out here in a straight shot to Ba Sing Se, and he was only just starting to see where the curve might be ahead.

But nowadays, at last, he was beginning to make some headway. Yan the Butcher- literally, but there were rumors of otherwise- had finally taken Smells, Longshot and him off grave-snatching duty, after he’d shown just how well they could defend the turf of their employers. All of Small Spirits Cemetery and pauper’s field was now ripe pickings for the sons of the Black Shirshu’s hard-faced men, who wanted their offspring to grow up proper soft-handed scholars and doctors.

Jet had smiled, and accepted the reward of a job well done, and soothed his stomach with the thought that you had to look deep into the dark of the wounds before you could find out where to prick out the poison. At the end of the day, he was one step closer to his goals, and could turn his mind to much more pleasant riddles.

Like Li.

Li, Li, Li- Li who yielded up secrets like fields yielded up stones, in plenty, insoluble, and with great likelihood of breaking the plow that turned them up. He could make out the shape of them plain as day, but he couldn’t get at the meat- you’d have better luck tickling a boarqupine.

She bore weapons and scars, but her hands were fine things under the callus and mistreatment. She tried to act humbly and (not very) pleasantly, but radiated ‘don’t touch me you damn peasants’ when the work wore hard on her- like she’d rather be walking the rooftops or traversing palace halls or anywhere but here, honestly.

The skills, the attitude, the fine features under harsh treatment- these were the marks of a bred fighter- a noble. And from there- a lot of things came to light. Nothing stings like failure- that wounded pride that snarled and snapped, the tight don’t-touch-me don’t-try-me face said shame (a noble girl with battlescars and a firebender baby- someone had sent her into the field too early, or turned on her when she hadn’t succeeded in fighting off invaders). Shame that she wasn’t going to sacrifice more to- so she’d bolted, and ended up here.

Here where she grew tenser as the mask of the tea-server grew tighter, and there was nothing for her to do or to be but mundane.

The thought about broke his heart.

Maybe-just-maybe he could make some opportunity for that sword-wielding spirit to come out again and play.

….

It’s a long game, but one he’s played before. And when that masked figure appears along the walls, inching away from sight, Jet feels a flare of pride that he’s still got that touch of inspiration.

It’s not unusual to see shadows on the rooftops in Ba Sing Se, but when the moonlight plays off them, generally it shows more green than blue.

.....

….

"You should've seen it- Old Kwan was going nuts, trying to figure out what happened to his shipment- whoa," says Jet, the mad, bad boy who's become a feature of her daily routine, for all her trying. He's looking at her funny; like always, but funnier than usual. Li just picks up empty cups and sets them on her tray, the motions automatic and performed as if somewhat underwater.

"Trouble?" he asks, like it's not his middle name.

"Lin was fussy last night," she says, and gives a smile through desperately sleepy eyes. Jet looks her over, head tilted. He makes a face that looks as sober as a judge’s, and turns to where the girl is playing with Longshot’s hat, whilst Longshot himself is juggling his wriggly armful.

"Did you make trouble for your mommy? Naw, lookit that face, who could make trouble with a face like that…"